CHAP. XIV. A Summer in London.

London is a little world of itself. I declare I thought myself well acquainted with the metropolis, but I found I was quite a novice in this respect; and as we journeyed southwards towards Westminster, I was sensible of a striking difference in the air. The month of May, in a clear atmosphere, is an enchanting season. In a close, populous neighbourhood, where poverty is conspicuous, the luxuriances of nature seem almost an inconvenience. I am certain, from all I have seen, other animals besides Asses, have an antipathy to water; it must be so—or we should not be disgusted by the sight of those thousands of squalid beings with which the city of London abounds. My new master and his family were of this class, and to my utter surprise, neither pasture nor stable awaited me in this service. Some varieties I had seen; but it had never occurred to me that I should be led through a house, and destined to consider a space not exceeding twelve feet, a place for repose and refreshment after the toils of the day. I literally shuddered as the cart was backed upon an adjacent dunghill, and I was introduced through the family mansion.

Did I say the family mansion?—it was an egregious mistake; the dwelling contained at least half a dozen families, equally elegant in their habits and manners. I believe they were industrious, but it did not appear to me that the best consequences of industry attended their exertions. The younger branches were uniformly idle, wandering the streets from morn to night; while the seniors when their appointed labour was over, were chiefly employed in eating and drinking. To me, this was a strange perversion of common sense in creatures who know all the necessity of providing against the approaches of old age; the attacks of disease, and those thousand ills to which “flesh is heir.” Thus, while I say there was an influx of money amongst these people occasionally, they yet lived in a state which while it implied poverty, scarcely, deserved commiseration. My situation was truly deplorable, my immediate duties being of so hazardous a description as to keep me in constant alarm.

You have seen those slight carts decorated with crockery ware: well, it was a vehicle thus ornamented I was doomed to lead. I had made the discovery, that the sun could shine in London, as my half-roasted body could have attested. We began our travels at an early hour, and seldom got home before nine o’clock at night.

A few mouthsful of hay, were thought sufficient for my support during the day, and though I was really tantalized by the sight of a green field, many temptations presented themselves in the course of my peregrinations: for instance, could I see those long bags suspended to the mouth of a Hackney-Coach horse, and not sigh for such a charming appendage?—See them drink from the offered pail, and not feel my own deprivations? It will be said, I am mistaken; that Hack horses are by no means so well treated as I imagine. Granting that individual suffering leads us to magnify the comforts of others; you cannot deny, that we are an abused race. The simple fact, that there are men appointed to attend to the feeding of Horses, places this in an unequivocal point of view. Who thinks of an Ass; momentarily releases him from his harness and suffers him to feel a glimpse of liberty; slakes his thirst; or, in the most trivial particular seems to consider him endowed with feeling?

O if nature had not been more provident, and kindly bestowed on us the virtue of abstemiousness, how much more wretched had been our lot! But, as man possesses the power (did he feel the inclination) to improve our condition, it is surely a disgrace to him, and somewhat impugns that high character of justice with which he too frequently invests himself. Old Balaam used to say, “that rational animals occasionally mistook the meaning of the word justice, and while pride influenced their actions, really thought they were acting equitably.” I am not disposed to refute this assertion, more especially as I have seen some instances of quickness of feeling, a dread of being under obligation, which forcibly corroborate the remark of my friend Balaam. Yet how can we reconcile the contradiction of that stately biped called man owing obligations to creatures like us, and taking no account of our services? The stronger the contrast between the obliged and the obliger, the more imperiously does it claim the regard of the former.

But here again all-beneficient Providence has befriended us:—we are patient, submissive; not prone to resent injuries;—and surely these qualities should endear us to beings to whom authority is so invaluable.

We ask no special favours, nor require a code Assinine to be enacted for our benefit. No; it is the simple exercise of humanity to which we think we have undoubted claims; and these pretensions will ever remain in force amongst Asses, until MAN, by a reference to the religion he professes or the laws under which he lives, disproves our appeal by convincing us, he is licensed to wound and maltreat the defenceless.

Forgive this digression; the subject is one in which I am too feelingly interested to be concise.

To return to my perishable burthen. Our success was various; there were days in which I was scarcely sensible of any diminution in my load, and others when a brisk trade gave mutual satisfaction to my master and your humble servant. Attentive, and open as my ears always were to receive information, it will not be supposed I could exactly comprehend those nice distinctions between the names of persons and things, only to be acquired by intense study, deep research. My ignorance in this particular led to a painful result: we were in Piccadilly, had just received payment for some of our goods, a gentle touch of the whip apprized me I was expected to proceed, when words, which to me sounded like “Plates off,” caused me to stop suddenly; a jingling, or rather a concussion amongst our crockery convinced me I had done mischief. My master seized my reins, struck me violently across the mouth, yet evidently expected me to bear his brutality with Spartan indifference. How far my natural hardihood might have helped me at this juncture I know not, for the whole street was in commotion. I shared in the agitation, and in endeavouring to recede from my master’s grasp plunged the cart into one of those holes so frequently left open for the good of the public.

Like other erring animals I stood still when the mischief was done;—but as I looked around me, and saw the people running to and fro, I said to myself, “this is surely a very extraordinary proof of sympathy; these people can feel upon occasion, yet I really had no idea that a few plates slipping off my shelves could have had such an effect!” And, conscious that my second error must have proved more extensively injurious to my master, I fully expected the crowd would now surround us. Conceive my surprise when my master forgetting his rage, inquired which was Platoff!

“That’s him,” said a coachman from the box, “that’s the Don Cossack!”

“Ah,” thinks I to myself, “this then is the trumpeter of some king! I suppose nations differ in the animals they select for this office. The king of Spain prefers Asses, I should say Donkeys.” My limited education did not allow me to judge of this personage by his dress; as good fortune would have it, a gentleman with a little boy (who had mounted behind a carriage to get a sight of this Hero) in a few words set me right.

“That is Platoff,” said he, “General of the Cossacks, called Don Cossacks from their inhabiting the neighbourhood of the river Don, in Russia.”

“I think,” said the young gentleman, “that the Emperor of Russia should be styled Alexander the Great; I am sure he is a better man than the son of Philip was. But when will they write a history of these times? I want to read an exact description of the entrance of the Allies into Paris.”

“Fame will do justice to their magnanimous conquests,” replied the elder stranger; “but my dear boy, there are already printed documents which may help to assist your laudable curiosity. It will require time and reflection to give such a history of late events, as shall be worthy of the men it is to immortalize.”

“Oh,” thinks I, “what an Ass have I been; history, is to be the trumpeter of these men!”

The plan appeared excellent according to my idea, for I had heard so many amusing anecdotes quoted from books of Natural History, I could not doubt that a natural history of great and good men, must tend to the edification of the whole species. I shall be dubbed a jealous Ass when I add, that my nationality was a little touched as these high encomiums on foreigners reached my ears. “What” said I, “are we to be overlooked? Are the English people a degenerate Race?” And looking round (somewhat pettishly I own,) my murmurs yielded to a contrary conviction. All was enthusiasm, loud shouts! “hats off!”—The warmest gratulations spontaneously uttered!

“I understand it now,” said I, exultingly. “An inferior people would not know how to receive these warriors. It is only the brave, that participate the achievements of the valorous.”

But to descend from my Heroics; the streets were in a few minutes deserted, and my master found leisure to resume his resentment. Many degrading epithets were bestowed on my stupidity, but not one word was said of the bad state of the pavement.

Whether our gravity is against us in some situations, or that we really want that physical animation which when opposed to passion, will sometimes awe even a tyrant, I cannot determine; I rather fear our timidity is mistaken for insensibility; and we suffer for that very deference we observe towards our masters. Mr. Carter (my then owner,) had not sustained any material injury from my accident, but he had lost time, and though this was perfectly optional on his part, it was attributed to me, nay, the flight of the populace added to his ill humour,—there was nothing to be done in the way of business. Men of a certain character (aye and children too,) must have something to quarrel with—I, an unresisting Ass stood before him,—could any thing be more opportune? Forgetting the chances were against his brittle merchandize, he seized his whip and lashed me so unmercifully that contrary to all precedent, I made a desperate effort, broke from his hold, and running with all my might reached the top of St. James’s Street, amidst the clattering of my demolished burthen and the cheering of two or three gentlemen who had witnessed our contest. There, an unexpected obstacle presented itself,—the poles of a sedan chair stopped my progress,—the chair was rescued from destruction by the activity of one of those herculean animals who carry these leathern vehicles; but I fell, and my knees received an injury never to be recovered. Carter arrived furious almost to madness: by this time a small but select crowd were assembled—one or two persons lamented the poor man’s loss in his broken crockery, but a gentleman who had been chiefly instrumental in assisting me to rise, declared, “the scoundrel is justly punished. I have watched you for some minutes,” said he, addressing my master. “Do you know Sir, you are liable to imprisonment for maltreating this wretched animal? and I am strongly inclined to make you an example.” Carter looked alarmed, and as it is the custom to call every thing that looks timid, an Ass. I suppose it would be proper to say, he looked like an Ass. I confess, I never beheld a more striking contrast than the countenance my master exhibited while under this gentleman’s censure, and that which had distorted his features when exerting himself to wound me. It may be that personal fear is not becoming to man, for certainly I never saw a human face that carried less of dignity in it than my master’s did at this moment. Referring to the board on which Carter’s name and abode were painted, the gentleman drew out his pocket-book and made a memorandum; then, in an impressive voice bade him be cautious how he conducted himself, for that he would not lose sight of him.

We moved on slowly. I was now for the first time, suffering under bodily infirmity; and conscious that my misfortune was of a nature to lessen my usefulness, the future filled me with horror.

I could not but observe, however, that in the late instance the interference of the stranger, seemed to have an effect somewhat different from the doctrine of Balaam.—My master really appeared humbled, and once or twice stopped to examine my knees without uttering any of those murmurs, I anticipated from concealed, rather than subdued anger. We reached home, and our adventure was related to the assembled family. I had heard of such a thing as embellishment of style, figures of speech, &c. &c.; but certainly never was tale more partially amplified, than that in which I was the unfortunate Hero.—“Oh,” thinks I, “if my actions are thus trumpeted by one who knows me, what a portrait will be handed down to posterity!” I really believe it was the injustice of this story-teller, that first led me to think of writing my own memoirs. It was too bad to hear myself called an obstinate brute, not worth my feeding! Nay more, that I had brought ill luck into the family, and now, was good for nothing!—Whatever truth there might be in the last remark, I thought I had some claim on their humanity; my lameness was got in their service, and if more tenderness had been shewn me, I might yet have retained the full use of my limbs. How to get rid of me was the thing;—my knees were bound up, and for nearly a week, I was a prisoner. The natural vigour of my constitution was yielding to this unwholesome confinement, when a clean respectable looking woman was introduced into my presence.

“Poor thing! he’s been sadly maimed,” said she; “to be sure, he wont be hard worked with me, but if I buy him, and he don’t answer my purpose, that would be a great disappointment.”

Carter strongly recommended the animal “that was good for nothing!”—he would gladly keep me himself, for he knew I should soon be as strong as ever, only he had met with a horse, a great bargain; and indeed, his work was too much for a Donkey!

After some demurs on the part of the woman, they agreed, and he was to send me to Kensington next day.

I felt it was impossible to change for the worse, and resigned myself to the vicissitudes of fortune with all the calmness of philosophy. My spirit was broken, that vivacity which had supported me under so many difficulties no longer lent its aid, nor did I ever hope to find a service that should restore me to my former self. It was therefore, with a listless indifference I obeyed the summons of Jack Carter, my master’s son, who was deputed to convey me to Kensington. On his mounting my back, I was fully sensible of the injury I had sustained in my legs. I rather tottered than walked,—my rider perceived it, and with that cunning which belonged to his family, dismounted, in order to avoid giving me the appearance of being what I really was at the time; a worn out, melancholy Donkey. Mrs. Dawes received me kindly; the agreeable situation of her house, and the comfort of the open air, were quite a regale to me, who had been suffocating in Westminster for three months. I saw she was a laundress, and recollecting with pleasure my former service with a person of this calling, adjourned to a field at the back of the drying-ground, more composed and happy than I had felt since the death of the excellent Mrs. Arnot.